


Gangs' Boy (Klance)

by trendingtrash



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Endanger, Garla Gangs, How Do I Tag, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Lance is curious, M/M, Secrets, They want Keith, klance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 00:50:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11543979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trendingtrash/pseuds/trendingtrash
Summary: Everybody knows that Gangs are expected to gain territory, they do this through individuals, violence and dominance.Keith is a threat to both and quite frankly a target. He has the secrets of each, and the determination to deny them and their threats of death. Until, of course, they raised their fists to break his will. And it almost did.Lance, a boy on the shore, sees the cracks that not everybody wants to see and determined to break him from his demons that he runs from. But not everybody will take kindly to his help, or to Keith's returning icy demeanor.





	1. Prologue

The heaviness of his chest weighed Keith down as he trudged on the shoreline, sneakers splashing the salty water up to his face, providing a sense of coolness that the streets couldn't provide. That's why he took this way, taking the other route would only provide an hot face and burning lungs. Though, Keith reasoned, it would've been easier on his legs. Calves burning against the strain, Keith grunted, breath catching in his throat, rattling to his harsh breaths. “Breath...” he managed through struggled grasps, “....breath...”

Breathing was the must important part in the running, it provided oxygen to the muscles, and mind. If you didn't breath correctly you'd get the stitch. If you didn't breath correctly, you'd tire too quickly.

Keith needed to ability to go. And no just run for ten minutes – no, his demons were much too fast and able – he'd have to run long into the night, into the narrow streets of the Northern street of the city, pushing his way forward. Into the back street, where there was no lamp light to lead him.

That's how'd he'll be safe from them. Running was all the weapons he cared to carry – look where carrying more than his ability to run got him...

In hospital.

“Breath...” his chest ached, his heart hammering against it's cage, “breath, Keith... you've got this...” he grunted out, voice hallow of expectation. And then he knew he had failed, losing faith in yourself had to be another major factor in fitness – or in anything for that matter. Once you lost it, you lost everything with it.

“You can do this,” he rasped out through a perched throat, numbly accepting that the seawater could no longer cool him, “ _just a little further..._ ” His words were lost in his throat, the music in his ears hammering into his skull.

Drawing to a stop, the young man cussed, pulling an earbud out furiously as he paced, chest heavy and body sleek with sweat. He had lost to his exhaustion... again. Breathing deep, Keith walked the length of the beach, attempting to recover, legs shaking with each step. There was a cafe just up the beach, built onto the docks, providing an shelter eating place for those around the area.

It was reasonably cheap, if Keith remembered correctly, well at least for a cafe that attracted the the tides of travelers that past through. It'll be a reasonable spot to cool down, before heading back to the apartment, taking these bodyguards with him.

They knew run time, was alone time and that was enough said. They tried to understand Keith's situation as much as their case, the boy had to give them credit for that. They did their best, and so Keith would do his best to remain patience.

They remained because Keith most importantly needed them. Once their contact was broken next month, Keith would be alone to face the world again. His demons again, though admittingly he hadn't seen any trace of them.

Shiro had offered to remain – which he was admittingly entitled to as a cousin, but Keith couldn't bear the thought of keeping him from a bigger plan that Shiro deserved, was almost as haunting as that of be alone.

Reaching the top platform, Keith sighed, glancing behind him. Shiro stood off, his posture relaxed and a smile on his lips. _Want anything?_ Keith gestured, hands moving in the language Allura had taught him.

 _They won't be able to distinguish what you're saying,_ she had explained with a unsure smile. She hadn't quite come to terms with Keith's background as much as Keith had, and had remained uncomfortable through the whole encounter.

“You're doing it all wrong.” A voice chirped up – a little girl, with golden skin – sitting herself down at a table that was located near the entrance, next to her father.

Keith just caught the open sign turn: 'closed' and knew immediately knew it was a distraction. The thought still stung. “Huh,” he managed, cheeks flushing as he stepped onto the steps. “right,” he grasped, eyes flickering to the inside of the building. A woman stood at the entrance, hand resting on the sign, face pitched in a look of pity.

Behind her, he saw eyes linger on him, unable to drink their drinks. Unable to eat, until he past through the banners just below the steps and onto the shore again.

Keith's face burned with shame. “Ugh... I'm sorry then.” He finished, unable to meet the girl's eyes, aware of the father's dark ones piercing holes into him. He wasn't even sure what he was sorry about anymore. Everything, most likely.

The looks of pity, discomfort and disgust always lost Keith's appetite. Turning sharply on his heel, he trudged down the steps, very aware they would be counting how many steps they heard from indoors.

Keith couldn't even meet his cousin's eyes, as he stepped onto the sand, head bowed as the cafe slowly got back into the full swing of summer.

It was summer and Keith couldn't even get his own drinks.

Turning to the dorks below, Keith felt his eyes sting, vision blur against the weight of anger that remained trapped inside him... and the sense sadness that came untapped. The sense of betrayal, to those people....

It wasn't his fault. He was born into that family – and you don't pick your birth family. They were your blood – and no one wanted to mingle with a son of a gang member. And most importantly they didn't want to mingle with a boy that had recently been fought over by the two most renowned gangs with this part of the city. Combine, you were must likely to denied any entrance into any place, but the police station and the councilors.

Ducking under a beam, Keith moved forward until he reached the water, drawing into it, until he was ankle deep, uncaring of his sneakers, tears stung his eyes dangerously, threatening to drop onto his face and embarrass him further.

“Patience yields focus...” Keith murmured loud enough for Shiro to hear, as the older man drew nearer. “Next time you're getting the drinks.” He muttered, unable to keep the hoarseness from his throat.

Shiro drew up next to him, arms crossed over his chest, brows furrowed together, “Alright, next time.” Shiro replied, voice soft, “But in time-”

“ _Patience yields focus._ ” Keith mimicked, pointing out his train of thought.

Shiro nodded, though he said nothing, allowing the conversation to trail off and the lapsing of the waves against the rotting wood invade the silence. Seagulls cried nosily in the sky as the day settled in, drawing more people onto the beach.

The pair remained quite, both unable to find words for the obvious embarrassment that Keith suffered from. \

“Hey, watch ou-!” A voice cried out, footsteps thudding heavily on top of the dock. Keith hadn't anytime to react. The impact came quickly, knocking him from the ground. The lifebuoy bounced unevenly on the beach surface before rolling further away into the sea. Keith's energy peaked again as he shoved himself onto his face, cheeks turning red as he spun around to face the thrower, clothes drenched from the water.

“I'm am _so_ sorry.” A boy about Keith's age apologized before he reached the two individuals, drawing up to them at a jog. The boy was obviously a son to the owners of the cafe above, with bright blue eyes of his mother, sharp featured and tanned skin of his father.

“What do you think you're doing?” Keith snapped, shoulder tense and fist clutched tight. He felt _ashamed_.

The boy finally stopped, eyebrows pitching together and pouted, “I apologized, geez,” he said in another apologetic tone, hands held forward in a defensive position.

Keith's nostrils flared, but he forced himself into a reasonable place. “Fine, whatever.” Shiro was by his side again, carrying the buoy in his arms. Shiro stepped forward and gave the boy the buoy, breaking the silence that enveloped the two younger boys.

“Lance,” he greeted charmingly, trying to draw the attention to the tense atmosphere,“how are you?”

Lance sounded familiar, Keith thought, eyes narrowing. But he had no idea where to place it.

Lance grinned in reply, “I'm good thank you, and how are you Shiro?”

So the two knew each other, Keith noted, looking blankly at the other boy. So that means....

It meant nothing, actually, Keith thought startled. He didn't _truly_ care and either did the other two individuals – Shiro was probably the most likely one to actually give a damn. But he always cared, so that didn't necessary count. Grunting in annoyance, he turned on his heel and started to walk the length of the beach, retracing his path towards home. The other bodyguards departed and started to follow, not bothering to keep their distance.

Shiro followed later at a run, catching up to Keith, breathing deep. Keith by then had a handle on his anger, biting back a words that were trapped in his throat. But the humiliation, he had felt had not gone away, settling in his skin and casting a dark cloud over him.

His dark look must have told Shiro all, as his cousin remained quite on the way back, allowing him to brood on his misgivings. Cold and miserable, Keith allowed his three other bodyguards to take the lead, as they grew more comfortable, going deeper into the city.

It was still early morning with only the workers rising early, and cafes opening up to get the morning rush before school, university and work hours. Keith made sure that it was this time he headed home anyway, he had told himself, if he had gotten that freaking coffee anyway, he'd be in the morning rush, suffering from more pitied looks and harsh whispers.

Coran advised him to see the brighter picture from 'then on', and Keith took it now, as his clothes dried, and sneakers dried out. He always circled around the big areas, avoiding the large streets and hitting the side roads, brushing past smaller shops – much to the bodyguards dismay.

Staying within a population area would keep him safe, they said – _Allura_ had said, and even if Keith had preferred those streets too, taking a risk on a sidewalk with peace and quite was a better option than that on a sidewalk with buzzing noise and directed looks.

The Gangs wouldn't stop even if he had taken the busiest areas, anyway, Keith reasoned, at least he was keeping his problems away from everyone else.  _Problems?_ Something chirped deep inside him, _or secrets?_

 

 


	2. Demon Boy

_One Month Later..._

 

Guardless. Helpless. Keith was on the street for the first time since his bodyguard's contract had come an end. Shiro had stayed longer, dragging out this excuses to Allura and Coran with a reasonable smile.

But even Shiro's charm had him back at work within the second week, leaving Keith to remain locked up in his flat, watching nervously out the window. His demons, Allura had assured him, would remain away from him, after all it wasn't their time to head out into the streets and cause trouble.

But then that woman had no idea how the Gangs managed to expand their territory through people. They branched out, and just because the Galra Empire gathered at the end of the year didn't mean that he would go unnoticed.

And the Blade of Marmora were always tight, they kept in contact and expanded across the city like their rivalry. Some housing in the same streets, and neighbors to each other, fight broke out often – often leading to deaths and serious injuries among them.

And if that didn't make the city nervous, then Keith only a couple of ideas that would. Gangs trying to gain territory was always a daunting fact.

Sighing, Keith stuffed his fists in his pockets, eyes watching the stores warily, shoulders tense and joints stiff from the cold. He dared now to walk on the main street, eyes gilding over familiar faces that would never remember him. Or at least not remember how he would've been remembered for any.

Gang boy was a name that he had heard recently, peering out onto his street road, as school students of neighboring houses walked passed, casting looks of interest into his yard. It wasn't the name that partially stuck a nerve, it was the look afterwards – okay maybe it was the name too actually... after all they were _younger_ than him! ' _Boy_ ' was as mocking as the mouths that actually said it.

Which left no room to doubt that they had heard the name elsewhere – probably from their parental figures or their elders – after all they kinda were licensed to call him 'boy', more than those fourteen year old's anyway. Even if Keith wanted to punch them regardless.

Luckily it was much too cold have too many people out and about, and Keith was mostly unnoticed, though Keith daren't attempt to go into a cafe still, people many be ignorant, but they weren't stupid. Keith's face was bound to be in their memory somewhere and his name in inking the papers of old newspapers.

Keith sighed, carefully folding his collar closer to his neck, the cold biting at his cheeks, numbing his nose and causing his eyes to water. Cussing colourfully, he reflected his sob story, before shoving it aside, eyes still glistening from the cold. “Damn the cold.” He hissed, rubbing his eyes furiously and hard, pausing only to stop himself from walking into anything. “Thanks for the supposed summer, Summer.” He huffed out to himself the sarcasm inking into his words as he tugged along the sidewalk, hands numbing from the cold.

“Hey!” A familiar voice called, seemingly echoing against the buildings, and the stone pavement. Keith turned sharply towards the voice, shoulders tensing immediately. Someone was descending towards him – at a run. _Run, then they won't catch you,_ a voice called inside his mind, shattering any positive growth and crashing the breath from him. But no matter how many times he had told himself that he would run instead of face the consequences, his body remained coiled up in a tension that chocked him. _Run!_

But he found he could not run, eyes narrowing as the boy drew in closer. Clutching his fist, he turned back onto his heel, forcing his stiff legs into a walk.

“Hey! Ummm, Keith?” The lanky boy yelled, drawing to his side like a shadow of his past. But Keith didn't know him, so he wasn't from his past.

Keith felt his head ache, fist clutching painfully into fists, so he forced himself to stop, weighing the boy with disdain, “What?” He hissed through his teeth.

Lance frowned, lips thinning and face setting into something like a concerned furrow. “You okay man? You're like pale.”

Keith _felt_ pale, the urge to throw up was overpowering and unpleasant. He was nervous, utterly helpless on his own against the darkness. Shoving the thoughts aside, he gathered up his bravo, eyes narrows and chin tilting upwards, “I'm fine.” He replied, voice coming out as arrogant as he had hoped.

Lance didn't seem to get the hint, “I- I,” he stammered, voice low and caring, “ _you_ look as though you are about to spill your guts.” Keith suddenly felt the urge to hate him – punch him, whatever.

Keith's nostrils flared, “And you look like that boy who throw the buoy at me.” He replied, not overly witty – after all, Keith saved his wit for other people. A different sort of people that were symbols of their brotherhood, and took long inhales of heroine.

Lance suddenly smiled, “I _am_ that boy,” He clarified, like Keith was an idiot, “though I didn't throw it at you deliberately, it was an accident.”

“It makes the same thing, if you're not sorry.” Keith replied smoothly,

Lance sighed, looking more sorry than he had on the day he actually did – and that said a lot, “I am sorry, very sorry - _v_ _ery, very_ sorry.”

Keith had had enough, “Alright then, whatever. Now is that all?”

Lance's lips pitched into a thin line again, eyes widening, “No. I apologized when I did it, now I've come to ask you a question...” _oh god,_ “... is it true that you-”

Keith felt a sigh tumbled from his lips, his gut still twisting in his uneasiest, causing Lance to pause his question and look at the other boy eveningly. Keith scowled, eyes darkening, “It better not be about the gangs.”

Because if it was, Keith was going to punch him, maybe break his nose, maybe just below the chin – a good punch could knock a person to the ground, Keith knew, and nose ones were always tricky, if you shoved their bone into their brain then you have a problem. And Keith never liked problems. The chin it was.

Lance's mouth closed before he finished, eyes flashing with a whirlwind of emotion. Keith throw the punch, Lance's silence enough to provoke him into madness. Lance crumpled to the ground, his thin body falling hard against the pavement. Keith cussed, knuckles smarted from the blow as his eyes glanced over the boy, “It was wasn't it?” He snarled, a sudden passion burning in his veins, kissing his lips. He exhaled the triumph of the blow, “And that's my answer.”

It wasn't really, but that's what happens when the secret crawl to the surface. You got to push them back down again, even if it was punch to another individual that wasn't you.

People were already moving over to intervene, big guys, pretty girls, and everyone in-between. Keith felt himself sink back into his shoes, the fire dying on his breath. He was suddenly sorry – guilty like he ought to be. Keith looked back to Lance, feeling himself weaver in his feet.

Cradling his chin, Lance looked back up, fiery eyes meeting the others, “ _And it proves a point_.” He snapped, voice sharp with his own anger.

So he was going to ask about my part anyway, Keith reasoned, hoping to breath life about into his bravo. So he deserved that hit and maybe a little more. After all, everyone should watch themselves around a angry member of the public, more to the point, a stranger.

But not everyone shared the same view points and morals as Keith did, and so he quickly realized as the police pulled up, the lights flashing in their red and blue glory. Allura stepped out, her face pitched in death, “Keith Kogane, you are under arrest for assaulting a civilian. Any words you say will be held and said against you.”

They, Keith knew, would not ask his side of the story, even if Keith knew he was in the wrong anyway. Keith had a bad history – Lance supposedly as a sparking reputation with freaking rainbows coming out his arse.

Angel Boy always won in the eyes of the public and Demon Boy only shared a part in their hearts that was meant for a stray dog. Or maybe a part of them that would actually commit murder.

Nodding sourly, Keith tugged over to Allura's work vehicle not daring to meet her glaze as he put himself into the cruiser. Allura wouldn't even ask to be handcuffs on him, though she should. It was a part of her that dimly accepted that he knew he was in the wrong and to punish him further than public embarrassment would not suit either of them.

Keith knew how to sulk, even in the name of the law.

Watching darkly as Allura went over to assist Lance, Keith pouted, eyes narrowing. Lance had half the street to his defense, and Keith positively none. Though they were right and he was wrong, so he guested that there was in no harm in that... right?

Shuffling into a more comfortable position in his seat, he waited patiently ignoring the directed looks that was served his way.

Punching Lance wouldn't serve him well in the future, but it did now. People needed to know where the boundaries were placed – and if you couldn't talk it out, you hit it out.

And Keith wasn't a person for words, so that skipped immediately to the second option, that a lot of people wouldn't consider wise. But Keith was never described as wise, was he?

The driver door opened sharply, and Allura hoped in with an sympathetic smile back towards Lance before closing the door hard. Her kind eyes directed towards Keith, eyes hardening. “Really Keith?” She snapped, eyes blazing with anger through the review mirror.

“Really.” He replied curtly, hoping to keep the drive to the Police station a silent one.

Allura groaned in frustration, “I thought you were better than that, Keith.”

“Doesn't mean you are always right, Allura.” He managed through clenched teeth, fists stuffed in his hoodie, lungs still aching from the fright of Lance descent towards him. “It was either that or running.” The words weren't really meant to tumble out, but they did and sound pathetic as they fall. Keith groaned, forcing his eyes to watch outside the window as Allura pulled the car out of the curb.

“Running wouldn't have got you in trouble, Keith.” She pointed out, pushing her silvery hair away from her face – she did that a lot, especially when she was anxious.

Not bothering to look back into the review mirror, he muttered, “He was going to ask-” the words were sharp and hot, inking in the frustration of him, before the policewoman felt inclined to cut him off,

“About you past?” She retorted, “ _So what?!_ Words are better than punches and I hoped you realized that after having landed yourself in hospital, but it didn't.” Her fury made her look like a madwoman – and Keith guessed, she was kinda 'mad', it was another word for insane as well for angry.

Though Keith didn't know which 'mad' she fall under in that point of time.

“Yes,” He snapped, suddenly matching the anger that pressed onto him through Allura's glaze, “It didn't, obviously. I'm a slow learner remember?”

Keith wasn't but Allura had no way of denying it without look guilty, so a silence presumed, laying thick between the two. Allura sighed finally, the one to break the silence that Keith was willing to keep, “Punching people won't help people like you, expect for the bad sort, Keith. You have a good heart, I know you do. But others don't, okay? They believe in the rumors that have gone about-” No sugar-coating, Keith noted, “-and those rumors haven't enlightened you, and assaulting people on the street isn't going to do you any favours.”

Keith looked at his smarted knuckles and gingering rubbed them, “I know.” He admitted grudgingly.

“Then why did you do it then?” She asked, voice so casual that Keith knew it was important.

But Keith remained silent, after all what was he going to say? He already admitted that he punched Lance because he was going to ask about the gangs, but why did he do that? Why hadn't he told him?

That was Keith's secret to keep.

Pouting, but to pushing the subject, Allura pulled up to the Police Station, looking more hurt than before. “Keith, secrets eventually drown you, you know that right?”

Keith didn't even need to answer.

 

 


End file.
